


the road not taken / tell me i've got it wrong somehow

by sleepy_santiago



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, evermore - Taylor Swift (Album)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Bilbo Baggins, Ex-Mayor Thorin, Flashbacks, Getting Back Together, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Librarian Bilbo Baggins, M/M, Post-Break Up, Romance, Smut, Top Thorin, idk mayoral/town politics so please disregard that stuff lol, inspired by the album evermore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_santiago/pseuds/sleepy_santiago
Summary: Ten years after Bilbo left Thorin on the cusp of his mayoral election, a chance meeting at a grocery store begins to remind Bilbo why he fell in love with Thorin in the first place - and he finds himself questioning whether he ever fell out of love.But who is Thorin buying that wine and chocolate for?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88





	the road not taken / tell me i've got it wrong somehow

**Author's Note:**

> i highly recommend putting evermore (the album) on shuffle while reading this ~~and seeing how many evermore references you can catch~~. this fic is essentially me as the always sunny pepe silvia meme but instead of red marker lines it's wildly appropriated evermore lyrics and hobbit film references. i honestly bet you can't count all of the evermore references LOL because there are uhhhhhhhhhhh a lot and many aren't even explicit!
> 
> also let's not talk about how i woke up horn knee this morning and wrote the first smut scene i've done since i was like 15. no one look at me please.
> 
> no beta we die like men etc.

Bilbo had been staring at him for five minutes.

The man stood in Aisle Four of Rivendell’s Safeway with his back to Bilbo, his wide hands dithering over the boxes of chocolate on the shelf — golden boxes with brown ribbons, shiny pink boxes, and minimal white boxes with silver foiling. The top of a wine bottle poked out from the tote bag hooked over the man’s shoulder. 

Finally, the man selected a honey-coloured, heart-shaped box and turned. His cool blue eyes skated over Bilbo at first, and he made it a few steps toward the end of the aisle before he froze and turned back around. 

He looked almost exactly the same as he had ten years ago with his neat beard and long, dark hair falling in waves around his broad shoulders — but now, threads of silver wove through his tresses and delicate lines creased around the eyes that widened when they landed on Bilbo. He wore grey sweatpants and a deep blue peacoat.

Bilbo’s voice fought its way out from between his teeth. “Thorin.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin rumbled. He even sounded older. 

“What are you—” Bilbo said at the same time that Thorin blurted, “How—”

Bilbo chuckled shakily and wrung his hands. 

“Well, I’d best be going,” Bilbo blabbered. “I left my goat stew in the pressure cooker… Don’t want an explosion to happen… Um… Good morning!” He made several nonsensical gestures with his hands, turned on his heel, and fled.

Back inside his sedan in the Safeway parking lot, Bilbo’s forehead thudded against the steering wheel. He couldn’t recall scanning his groceries at the self-checkout, punching in the number of bags he used like he always did even though Thorin found it ridiculous (it only cost five cents!), or hauling the bags into the trunk of his car. All he remembered was the panicked blare of his thoughts and the lock of his muscles even as he tried to expedite his escape. 

“It’s not even morning,” Bilbo mumbled to himself, glaring at the golden light of the setting sun. 

The chirp of a car unlocking nearby had Bilbo looking up. He watched, hunkered down and peeking over the steering wheel, as Thorin slid into the driver’s seat of a silver Honda Civic a row over. As Thorin swung the plastic bag containing his box of chocolates into the car, a white curl of receipt paper fluttered from the opening and drifted onto the asphalt. 

The silver car backed out of its space and rolled out onto the freeway. A breeze pushed the curled receipt a few feet in Bilbo’s direction like a sailboat on a current, as if in offering.

Bilbo eyed the receipt in earnest indecision for a good few seconds, wondering if he’d gone batty from just ten seconds in the candy aisle with his ex. 

Finally, he tore his gaze from the temptation and started the engine.

~

Bilbo awoke the next morning to amber light weaving between the black, naked tree branches outside and reaching a chilled finger in through the crack of his window. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms out, cold air kissing his wrists as they emerged from the fleecy cocoon of his pajama sleeves. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to take up the empty space on the right side of the bed. He tucked the weighted blanket more firmly around his shoulders and nosed into his pillow.

Ten years stretching across three cities, a graduate degree in library science, and five different jobs, and Bilbo never figured out how to go back to sleeping like he was the only one on the bed — how to roll his body into the center of the mattress, reach up to open the blinds on one side of the bed, and find a glass of water on the nightstand on the other side. If he’d known that two years of sharing a bed would do this…

Bilbo buried his face in the pillow, which smelled of his own coconut shampoo. No, he told himself, remembering blue eyes calcifying into mercurial silver and angry words spat like fire. He wouldn’t go there again. 

It had been ten years.

~

By the time Bilbo sat at his desk at work, he had to tuck his hands under his thighs to keep them from wandering to the mouse and keyboard. 

“Fidgety hands?” Tauriel said in sympathy, rolling a cart of reshelves past Bilbo’s desk.

“Mm, something like that,” said Bilbo.

Tauriel stopped and leaned an elbow against the cart, which meant she intended on at least a minute of chatter. Bilbo sighed.

“What are you doing over winter break? I heard from Elrond that you’re taking the holidays off for once,” she said.

“Well, yes.” Bilbo exhaled, untucking his hands and folding them on his lap. “I did. I’ve been avoiding the hometown on the holidays for so long, I thought I should make an appearance before my mother makes another ‘I’m nearly dead’ joke.” He’d booked the time off work and bought the plane tickets before the incident at Safeway. Now, anxiety sped his heart at the thought of returning home.

Tauriel tsked. “My dad’s like that, but with grandkids. But he’s far too dignified to say it outright, so he just shows me and Legolas baby pictures of ourselves, tells us how we stopped being cute ages ago, and casually mentions how old he’s getting.”

“Why do they do that?” Bilbo buried a chuckle in his hands.

Tauriel shrugged. “Legolas moved to Moria to live with his boyfriend years ago; I almost never fly home. They get lonely.” She wheeled her cart toward Biographies.

Bilbo turned back to his computer screen, where his to-do list for the afternoon blinked back at him, every item already checked off. He warred with himself for another minute, then muttered a curse under his breath and clicked on Google Chrome. 

A search for “Thorin Durinson” dredged up everything Bilbo expected — a modest Wikipedia page for the young former mayor of Erebor, local news reports from six years ago when he stepped down from his post, and a couple articles from his election ten years ago. Just seeing the shape of Thorin’s name sent a pang rippling through Bilbo. 

Photos of the man cutting a sharp figure in suit and tie, behind podiums or beside his myriad politically-inclined relatives, dotted the search results. Although Thorin’s lips smiled, his stormy eyes pinned the viewer with an unrelenting seriousness.

Scrolling further down led Bilbo to a LinkedIn profile with Thorin’s headshot attached to it. Bilbo raised his eyebrows as he took in the headline and bio. 

“Sales representative for Hachette Books, huh?” he murmured. His eyes fell on the location tag. “Moria, MM. Then what on earth are you doing in Rivendell?” Then he remembered the one or two dealings he’d had with sales reps from publishing houses — they usually travelled between cities, selling books to libraries and bookshops and schools. Thorin must have driven up here for a sale. He’d probably be gone in a few days. 

Idly, Bilbo scrolled down the profile. It mostly consisted of sporadic posts shared from the Hachette page, a few news articles, and occasional photos of books and authors. Bilbo stopped on an update from three years ago — a photo of a stack of books, geotagged in a Mirkwood bookshop.

Mirkwood. Three years.

Bilbo sat up straight, counting off on his fingers. Yes, three years ago, Bilbo still lived in Mirkwood. In fact, he’d met with a sales rep on behalf of his supervisor at that job. 

But not Thorin. Never Thorin.

His mind drifted again, wandering the years. Despite staving off from Google searches and social media stalkings like this for years, Bilbo had spent a sleepless night or two watching shadows move across the ceiling and wondering whether Thorin was awake in that same moment, whether he slept in the Durinsons’ house in Erebor or a one-bedroom apartment in a city far away, and whether he slept alone.

He wondered where Thorin had driven off to with the chocolate and wine — a lover in a hotel room? A Tinder date at someone’s loft apartment? Bilbo’s chest flushed uncomfortably. He closed the window and retracted his hands from the keyboard. 

~

Bilbo kept his several suitcases handy in a closet just off the main entrance of his small house. Counting in his head how many days’ worth of clothes and toiletries he’d need for his trip home, Bilbo selected a mid-sized suitcase that reached his thigh. He opened the suitcase at the foot of his bed and started pulling sweaters from his armoire. A few raindrops tapped against the window before they multiplied and the patter of rain began in earnest.

No matter how many times Bilbo moved house or flew across the country for work conferences, he detested packing with a fervour. The rhythm of folding, tucking, and squeezing his belongings into a carry-on only reminded him how much of a homebody he was at heart, and the reason he’d unwillingly left home and started roaming in the first place. 

It had even rained just like this, that first night Bilbo had packed his bags to leave his coastal hometown of Erebor. At the time, he hadn’t owned anything more than one well-worn suitcase passed down to him from his mother and a couple of duffel bags — one of which might have started off as Thorin’s. Still, he’d stuffed them all with the clothes he dug from the closet, the hamper, and the bedroom floor and tugged the straining zippers shut as Thorin stood in the doorway, face as white as marble and hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Bilbo,” Thorin had said, almost pleading, when Bilbo shouldered past him with his bags.

Tears blurred Bilbo’s vision and sounds seemed to ebb and flow from his awareness — just as well, because he didn’t think he could take it if Thorin asked him to stay. He stumbled out into the charcoal night as the taxi pulled up, a single ticket for the night train to Esgaroth saved on his phone. Despite himself, he looked back at the bedroom window as the taxi peeled away from the curb. 

Thorin still stood outlined in the warm lamplight, frozen on the threshold.

~

When Thorin first announced his mayoral campaign in the spring, Bilbo realized that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Thorin. Sure, Thorin was his first boyfriend — his first love — but they’d dated for almost two years and only grew stronger in their affections every day. 

Bilbo blushed, thinking of the heirloom ring that Dis told him Thorin inherited from their maternal grandparents. He knew Thorin wanted to give the mithril ring to his life partner someday — and these days, Bilbo seldom had any daydreams that didn’t feature the ring sparkling on his finger. 

It wasn’t just the ring — Bilbo had just defended his thesis and interviewed for a job at the local public library while Thorin could become  _ mayor _ within the year. He pictured long days filled with books and quiet, and evenings at home with Thorin when he got home from the office. Everything about them made sense. 

On paper, at least. Bilbo never had quite figured out how he’d managed to land someone like Thorin, with his ruggedly handsome face and quiet strength and loyal heart, and the gentle way he pulled Bilbo out into the tide when they went to the beach, wading past the point where their feet could touch the seabed. The way he kissed Bilbo like he held all the secrets of the universe between his lips.

Sometimes, Bilbo felt like a charlatan. He saw the way people looked at Thorin, and the photos with the appreciative captions that made their rounds on social media after the campaign announcement. When Thorin looked at Bilbo like no one else existed, touched him like he needed nothing else to survive, Bilbo wondered why. What was so pleasing about his straw-coloured hair, or his plain brown eyes? His exhilarating hobby of reading in silence by the window with a pot of tea at his elbow? The most interesting thing about him was that he shared a birthday with Joan Jett. 

And the fact that he’d somehow tricked the most beautiful Durinson into dating him.

“I’d be strutting around if I were you,” Lobelia Bracegirdle had said to Bilbo, “if half the town was in love with my boyfriend but he belonged only to me.”

Bilbo had flushed red and waved the comment away. 

He knew that Thorin disliked the attention even more than Bilbo did, dodging flirtatious overtures and lingering eyes and preferring solitude only second to the company of his closest friends and family. 

“Why are you even doing this?” Bilbo had asked after a particularly draining press conference, running his fingers over Thorin’s scalp and through his curls as they lay in bed. 

“I’m a Durinson,” Thorin mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Just because your father was mayor doesn’t mean you have to be, too,” said Bilbo.

“Father  _ and _ grandfather,” Thorin reminded him. “Babe, I’ve prepared for this my whole life. College, internships, networking. It’s all led up to this. Especially after losing Granddad last spring...I...I just want to make them proud.” 

“And you will. You already are.” Bilbo beamed down at his boyfriend. He could think of no one more suited to the role of a leader, and it wasn’t because of his six-month internship at City Hall. Thorin commanded the attention of any room he stepped into. He would lay down his life for anyone he considered a friend, would even do the same for a foe. He had captured the hearts of the town, and everyone knew it. 

Including his enemies. 

Councilman Masters, who ran against Thorin, may have understood the depth of Thorin’s popularity, but this didn’t deter him from attempting to undermine it. The councilman’s own campaign hurled hardball after hardball at Thorin’s exhausted team, overwhelming them with borderline slanderous statements, rumours, and deceptive ads. 

Thorin spent nights at the office every week. At home, he brooded in his own world, not seeming to notice Bilbo’s touch, or the flickering candles he’d set the dinner table with, or Bilbo’s very presence. He grew thinner and dark smudges stained his under-eyes, lending a suspicious slant to his gaze.

Bilbo took to eating cereal for dinner, seated in front of the TV. He crunched on Lucky Charms and flipped through the channels, only pausing when Thorin’s face filled the television screen. Block letters spelled out the headline under Thorin: DURINSON JR. ADDRESSES POLICY CONCERNS.

Thorin’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Councilman Masters seeks prosperity and good fortune — not for Erebor, but for himself. He will do everything short of parading naked down Dale Avenue to secure it. He is taking you for fools. Will you play along with his self-serving ruse, listen to his filthy lies? I love this city and its people too much to stand by and allow this to happen with good conscience. Let me help you fight back.” 

His icy gaze pierced the camera. “If it is war he wants, we will have war.”

When Thorin slipped through the apartment door that night, silhouetted in dim light, Bilbo stood waiting with his hands on his hips. 

“‘If it is war he wants, we will have war?’” Bilbo mimicked. 

“I don’t sound like that,” Thorin grumbled. 

“You aren’t yourself, Thorin,” Bilbo said. “What are you thinking, waging  _ war _ on the man like that? You’re running for mayor, not — not a dictatorship. This isn’t how you earn votes.”

“Tell me, Bilbo, what do you know about how to earn votes? Is your expertise in public relations or community organizing? How many years did you spend volunteering or working in every corner of this city? What do you even think a dictatorship is?”

“Oh, that’s right — because you’re so much older and wiser than me,” Bilbo snapped. “You’re out paving roads and building worlds, and I’m a hapless child you can barely tolerate.”

Thorin looked away but didn’t apologize. “I’m too close to let up now. I’m not walking out on this. I’m winning this — not for me, but for my family. You wouldn’t understand.”

Bilbo crossed his arms. “I’m going to bed,” he said quietly. “You can join me if you decide you’re done being a prick.”

When Bilbo drifted off at last into a fitful sleep, it was to the rhythm of Thorin’s computer keyboard clacking away.

“He’s putting too much pressure on himself,” Dis said at brunch with Bilbo. She placed her fork and knife on her empty plate, wiped her lips with a napkin, and rested her hands on her third-trimester belly. “And when he gets manic like this...it’s hard to talk him down from anything.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Bilbo snorted. He looked down at his hands, twisted in his lap. “He’s a good man. I know he is. But…” But he didn’t act, talk, or look like the man Bilbo had fallen in love with. 

Or the man who’d fallen in love with Bilbo. 

“Look,” Dis said, “I can see how much this is affecting you. Take some time off stewing in the house. Go out and do something nice for yourself. And — please, I know it’s hard, but have some grace with my brother. He...he doesn’t ever say it, and he’s gotten very good at hiding it, but the reason why he gets so in his head about things is because he thinks he has to prove his worth. He wants what he believes is best for Erebor, and he wants to live up to Granddad’s legacy, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he didn’t achieve that. He wouldn’t be able to handle letting anybody down, let alone you.”

~

Bilbo couldn’t even remember what the calls had been about, in the end. He’d clung to that fact as a sign that his heart had healed for years. Now, he knew better than to think of this peculiar pain in his chest as anything so simple as a phantom ache.

He turned to look out the soaring windows at his gate at the Rivendell airport. His perch at the bar presented a view of sprawling hillsides in the distance — a gentle dawn broke over the horizon, dappling his tired eyes with a peach glow. Far away, a plane the size of Bilbo’s thumbnail taxied across the tarmac. Perhaps it was even the exact vessel that would shuttle Bilbo home to Erebor in an hour. 

He turned back to the bartender. “Can I get the tab, please?”

The bartender nodded and walked down the bar to tap on the screen of the computer.

Bilbo downed the last few drops of his brandy, paid his tab, and hopped down from the barstool, stretching his arms above his head.

He thought back again, prodding into every crevice in his memory, and still he remembered nothing about those calls. He only remembered Thorin crawling out from under the blankets where they’d been about to sleep side by side for once, his murmurs inaudible from beneath the bleat of his ringtone, and the muffled voices coming from the kitchen as Thorin poured some water while he answered his phone. 

Then a thud rang out as a cup slammed against the counter. Thorin’s voice sharpened and dipped low into a growl. 

No softness lingered in Thorin when he reappeared in the bedroom doorway. His silhouette had grown an armour, his face sneering. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Bilbo asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Someone on my side must have leaked it,” Thorin muttered. “Masters’ team somehow got a hold of our fundraising schedule. The bastard started double-booking our venues.” He paced the room.

Bilbo let his head fall back on the pillow. “Well, I’m sorry. At least it’s only that.”

“Only that?” Thorin laughed hoarsely. “Do you realize what this means? Someone on my side has it out for me. It begins with a few fundraising events — who knows where it ends?”

“You’re looking for enemies where there aren’t any,” Bilbo sighed. 

Thorin cut him a look so cold Bilbo almost shivered. “For all I know, it could be you.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, voice low in warning.

“You have done nothing but dissuade me from my cause since the beginning,” Thorin ranted on.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said sharply. He blinked, startled to feel tears welling. “Don’t you dare try to claim that I haven’t been supporting you at every turn, warming food in the oven every night when you fail to keep your promise of getting home in time for dinner, holding you when I needed to be held.”

Thorin started at the tremble in Bilbo’s voice. He stepped forward, eyes searching, but Bilbo shifted back on the bed and shook his head. If Thorin touched him right now, Bilbo might scream. The tears spilled down his cheeks. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Bilbo whispered, stomach sinking even at the sound of his own voice giving shape to those words. They imbued a weight into the air, something tight and unbreathable. “You’re not… You’re not you.” If Thorin had ceased to be the man who loved Bilbo, if the spell had broken, how could they possibly go on? Bilbo wouldn’t become a footnote in this story.

Bilbo turned over to face the window. “Just...sleep on the couch. Just for tonight.”

Silence bore down on Bilbo for a long minute. The pattern of shadow and light on the wall shifted as quiet footsteps padded down the hallway, away from the bedroom.

The following night, he started packing.

~

Belladonna and Bungo Baggins received Bilbo at the airport, smothering him in hugs and kisses and questions about how the weather was down in Rivendell (perfect, as always, with bright sunny days and light flurries of snow). In Erebor, frost climbed up building walls and glazed the earth while a persistent draft swept over the sea and through the streets.

“You haven’t been moping around in that apartment all by yourself, have you?” Belladonna asked. “We Tooks are social creatures. I swear, Bilbo, if it weren’t for us, you’d wither away alone in that box.”

“Bella, dear, let the boy have a moment to breathe,” Bungo said, patting his wife’s back.

“I’m not a boy anymore,” Bilbo grumbled as his father ruffled his hair, “haven’t been in over a decade.”

They all piled into the car and Bungo steered them onto the road to the main part of Erebor.

“Oh, Bungo, remind me to take my slacks to that new tailor on Main tomorrow, will you?” Belladonna said absently, peering out the car window. 

“Is that the one next to the…” Bungo glanced at Bilbo in the rearview and closed his mouth.

“The what?” Bilbo twisted around in the backseat. They’d already passed Main Street, but he caught a glimpse of the tailor’s shop sign (“Ri Brothers Alterations”) sandwiched between Ur’s Pawn Shop and Gloin’s accounting office before it disappeared from view.

“Nothing, dear,” said Bungo.

“Mom?” Bilbo pressed. “What is it?”

“Well, you know,” said Belladonna. “The pawn shop.”

“What about the pawn shop?”

Belladonna exchanged a loaded look with Bungo. “It was where, you know, Thorin…”

“Thorin  _ what _ ?”

“Where Thorin pawned off the ring.”

Ice clutched Bilbo’s throat. “The ring.”

“I remember you talking about it — mithril, inlaid with coloured stones?” Belladonna said softly. “It was a week after you took the train to Erebor that he turned up at the pawn shop with it. Sorriest-looking fellow you ever did see, according to Bifur. The right time to tell you never came up, you know, the way things were after you left.”

“He pawned the ring,” Bilbo said.

“Didn’t you say it was a family heirloom, Bilbo?” Belladonna asked. She shook her head in sympathy. “Can’t imagine the force of the heartbreak that must have driven him to give it away like that. I mean, couldn’t he have given it to his brother? Or sister?”

Bungo shushed her, looking worriedly back at their son, but Bilbo just rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window and stared at the barren trees that rolled past.

~

Bilbo once thought of Thorin as a prince — a hero in stature, with a heart of gold. He was magnificent for certain, Bilbo mused as he approached the figure in front of him, but it was the magnificence of a curse. His shoulders were made strong by the weight of the burden upon them, his solemnity forged in a childhood spent acting as an adult. Even the grey at his temples lent an august dignity that spoke of penance.

“I didn’t think I’d find you in a place like this, considering what you do for work,” Bilbo said, folding his hands behind his back.

Thorin looked up from the book he perused —  _ The Great Offshore Grounds _ — and his eyes rounded at the sight of Bilbo before he closed his mouth and gave a little smirk. 

“Ah. I’d wondered why you were creeping on my LinkedIn. Turns out it was just to give you a reason to approach me at the library.” His smirk sharpened at Bilbo’s immediate jaw drop. “You do know that you need to be logged into your account to look at someone else’s profile, right? And that people can see who looks at their profile?”

Bilbo buried his face in his mittened hands. “Well, I have no shame in admitting I did it.”

Thorin chuckled. “I would never suggest such a thing.”

“At least I’m not the type of person who regularly updates his LinkedIn profile.”

Thorin blinked at that, and his smirk melted into something softer. “I guess we can call it even, then.” He paused. “And I don’t stop loving books when I’m off duty.”

“The last book I remember you mentioning reading was  _ Pride and Prejudice _ , for the first-year English Lit course you took for the credit,” Bilbo blurted. “And that was before we started dating.”

Thorin stepped closer. “I spent two years of my life with a librarian-in-training. You pick up certain things.”

Bilbo slanted him a dubious look. “Like what?”

“Like the way they hold themself differently after they read a life-changing novel. Like the way they rhapsodize about the rhythm of a certain line of prose. Like the way the world falls away from them when they curl up in the armchair with a paperback, nose twitching at a ray of sunlight.” Thorin’s eyes bore into Bilbo’s. “It lives on in me, even when...even when you’re not around. More than you know. But you put it there.”

Bilbo opened his mouth and noticed that the stern old lady sitting at the front desk had started shooting them disapproving looks. He gingerly took Thorin’s elbow, ignoring the zing the touch sent up his spine even through Thorin’s thick wool coat and Bilbo’s mitten, and guided them toward the self-checkout machines. Thorin started scanning his books.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Bilbo said, lowering his voice.

“Nor did I expect to see you.”  _ Clap When You Land _ passed under the red line of laser light.

“I haven’t been back home during the holidays in ten years.”

“I haven’t been in six.”

Bilbo hadn’t known this.

“Did you drive?”

Bilbo started. “No, no, I walked. My parents are using the car.”

“Let me drive you.”  _ Real Life _ was added to Thorin’s small pile of scanned books.

“Home?” Bilbo asked.

“Anywhere.” 

Bilbo nibbled on his lip. Slowly, he nodded. “We could...we could take Shell Road, maybe?”

Thorin gazed at Bilbo as the machine printed his receipt. He inclined his head. “Of course.”

Outside in the frosty winter, mud caked the tires of the Durinsons’ pickup truck. 

“This hardly seems like an ex-mayor’s ride,” said Bilbo as they clambered into the cabin of the truck.

“Brings me back to high school and college,” said Thorin, starting the engine. It grumbled under their seats and he backed out of the parking space.

“I do remember you ferrying your dates to house parties on the weekends in this thing,” Bilbo murmured. “And, look, there’s the park where you’d drive your friends and hang out past nightfall.” He pointed out the window at the small plot of land beside the Methodist church.

A wry smile ghosted across Thorin’s lips. “I didn’t know you noticed me back then.”

“Are you kidding?” Bilbo squeaked. “You were Thorin Durinson. Everyone wanted you or wanted to be you.” He twiddled his thumbs, fiddling with his mittens in his lap. Even back then, he’d daydreamed once or twice about lying in the bed of the pickup truck with Thorin, gazing up at a feast of starlight and not thinking about calculus homework or piano practice.

“Those days are well behind me.”

“I doubt that.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you’re…” Bilbo waved his hand up and down the length of Thorin’s torso.

Thorin turned to him, amused. “I’m what? Use your words.”

Bilbo blushed. “You’re impossible.”

“ _ I’m _ impossible?”

“I didn’t know you pawned off the ring.” Bilbo didn’t know what possessed him to say this now, but the words had already left his mouth.

He thought for a moment that Thorin hadn’t heard him. Thorin stared ahead at the road, turning the steering wheel vacantly. They emerged onto Shell Road, which wound along the coast with copses of trees running along the other side. The last fingerprints of the day’s dying light glimmered along the crests of the dark waves tossing about the water’s surface.

“I was tired of being known for who I knew,” Thorin finally said. “Being with you...it was freedom. It was air. I dated around a lot when I was a kid, sure. They always wanted something from me — you name it. Some of them still haven't outgrown that.” He cut a look at his cell phone, lying on the dashboard.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. Something in him twinged in discomfort at that knowledge. Remembering the wine and chocolate, he wanted to ask if Thorin had found someone else who made him feel free, someone worthy of a mithril ring, someone who wouldn’t leave him standing crestfallen on the threshold. 

“There was no happiness after you,” Thorin said. They rolled to a stop at a traffic light and he turned to look at Bilbo. In the fast-fading evening, the red glow lit his profile. “I knew, when I was with you, that there wouldn’t be anyone else for me. That didn’t change after you left.”

Bilbo swallowed.

“I think most people at the end of a relationship acknowledge that there existed a future, a timeline where they would have spent the rest of their life with someone,” Thorin continued, “and then the split occurs, and that timeline never comes to pass. And that’s okay, because there’s life and light beyond that divide. Other timelines, other futures. But not for me. I’m not the person I was when we dated — I’ve changed, I’ve grown, I’ve weathered, I’ve lost. But this new me? He loves you as much as the old me did. My love for you is a mountain. Time plodded steadily on around it, but nothing could move it.”

The light blazed green and the truck rolled forward. Thorin cleared his throat.

“No one at all?” Bilbo’s voice cracked.

Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“During all these years? You — you didn’t…”

Thorin shrugged. “You left me no choice.”

Bilbo struggled to catch his breath.

“I’ve hurt you,” Thorin said. “There isn’t a lifetime long enough to allow me to repair the injuries I have caused you. So you should know that I’m not saying this in a cheap attempt to win your heart back or to garner sympathy.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Thorin…” He sighed, frustrated, and wrung his hands. “After I left, I thought I felt so unmoored because I’d left the only home I’d ever known with no sight of returning. There was no feeling I hated more than that — wandering the jungle of the world, having to call a shoebox apartment with concrete walls home. It wasn’t until years later that I realized it was actually because...without you, I didn’t have anything to fight for.” 

He glanced at Thorin out of the corner of his eye. Thorin caught his lower lip between his teeth, turning it white.

“You weren’t the only one who did the hurting,” Bilbo went on. “I’ve treated you like a villain, but I know now that I can’t escape my pain by doing that.”

“You didn’t do anything—”

“I did,” Bilbo said. “You don’t know it, but I did. It was my insecurities, not yours, that played their part in breaking down our relationship.” 

The truck slowed to a stop at the curb. Bilbo looked up, stunned to see his parents’ house looming in the deepening twilight.

Thorin slanted Bilbo a wan smile. “It’s getting late. Your parents must be waiting for you.”

Bilbo looked resolutely down as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He’d hoped the drive would last longer.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Anytime,” Thorin returned. Like always, the sincerity in his voice made Bilbo shiver.

~

Bilbo lay in his bed, hair wet from the shower, the moon high in the sky, when he realized he hadn’t asked Thorin for his number. Cursing, he pulled out his phone. He hesitated, then tapped on the LinkedIn app.

Thorin accepted the request to connect right away. Bilbo muffled a giggle. 

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ Did you know we were in Mirkwood at the same time? _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ oh? _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ Yes. Now that I know you know I stalked you, I can ask you about it _ .

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ What was your business in Mirkwood three years ago? _

Bilbo sent a screenshot of the post Thorin made in Mirkwood.

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ I had to meet with a bookstore owner and a rep from the central branch of the public library. it was one of my first accounts, actually. _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ is that where you worked? _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ That’s where I worked! Who did you meet with?? _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ uh, I don’t remember their name. long brown hair, blue eyes, I think? _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ Earring in his left ear? _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ I think so... _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ That’s Elros. Kind of a shithead, got me in trouble with Thranduil our boss on my first week there, but we became friends eventually. _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ Wait, oh my god _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ what? _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ I just remembered something.  _

Frantic, Bilbo dug through his text history with Elros until he found the conversation he sought. He took the screenshots and sent them to Thorin.

**Bilbo** _Thanks for covering for me. How’d the day go?_

 **Elros** _Np dude. It was good, our ill-tempered boss left early for a date with his boo so even when he was in he was in a better mood than usual. Oh my god and the meeting i had to take for you!!!!_

 **Bilbo** _Oh my god is Thranduil still with the same guy?_

 **Elros** _Yeah brad or bard or whatever_

 **Bilbo** _Good for him. How was the meeting?_

 **Elros** _So much better than you could imagine_

 **Bilbo** _????_

 **Elros** _Well the meeting itself was normal lol we ordered a bunch of stuff from Hachette. But oh my god the sales guy !!! you should have seen him Bilbo he was literally so hot. Silver fox in the making type_ 🥵 _so gentlemanly too. I almost asked for his number but don’t worry I stayed professional_

Thorin started and stopped typing a few times. Bilbo nibbled on his thumbnail, eyes glued to the screen.

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ I’m sure Elros is a great guy. but I wish it had been you. _

Bilbo’s teeth dug into the meat of his thumb.

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ Of course you would _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _? _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ Well, I’d buy anything from you. So it would have worked out in your favour. _

Again, Thorin typed and deleted something before starting to type again.

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ by the way, you left your mittens in my truck >>[photo attached]<< _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ I’ll be home all day tomorrow while my parents drive out to visit a relative if you want to come pick them up _

In the photo, Thorin’s large hand cradled both of Bilbo’s knit mittens. Bilbo licked his lips and exhaled.

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ I’ll be there. _

**Bilbo Baggins** :  _ Goodnight, Thorin _

**Thorin O. Durinson** :  _ goodnight Bilbo. _

~

Bilbo wavered on the doorstep for a full minute. Tempted to flee back into the car, he wondered if Thorin’s room had a window facing the front yard. Finally, he gave the door two firm raps. 

A second later, the door swung open to reveal Thorin in a soft knit sweater and black jeans. His lips pulled into a smile upon seeing Bilbo. 

“Hi,” said Bilbo, flushing at how breathless he sounded.

“Hi,” said Thorin. He licked his lips. “Uh, I’ve got your mittens inside… I’ll just…” He jabbed his thumb backward and started to turn away.

Heart in his throat, Bilbo caught Thorin’s wrist before he could move any further. Thorin glanced back at him with a question on his tongue. As their eyes locked, Bilbo swore that he felt the rasp of the tide between his toes, waves lapping around his waist, a warm hand pulling him over the precipice of the ocean floor.

He fell forward and landed in Thorin’s arms. Strong hands gripped his elbows. Thorin’s eyes went wide as they gazed down at Bilbo in wonder. 

Reckless, Bilbo surged upward, where Thorin met him in a kiss. A bristly-soft beard rubbed against Bilbo’s chin while warm lips pried his own apart and large hands roamed Bilbo’s waist, lower back, and ribcage, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Thorin,” Bilbo gasped as Thorin pulled him flush against his body.

Thorin drew back to search Bilbo’s face. 

Bilbo swallowed as they looked into each other’s eyes, cheeks flushed, chests heaving. Thorin’s breaths fanned over Bilbo’s sensitive lips, little sweeps of coolness in the heat of their embrace. 

“Keep going,” Bilbo whispered. “Please.”

A dangerous gleam appeared in Thorin’s eye as he tugged Bilbo in and swung the front door shut. 

Bilbo was led down the hall and into the guest bedroom, where Thorin’s books and laptop were strewn across the desk and his clothes draped across the furniture. Thorin backed him into the room until Bilbo’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he landed with a soft whump.

Thorin shucked the sweater as he walked his knees onto the mattress, leaving him in a soft white t-shirt. He crowded into Bilbo’s space, their noses brushing beside each other, and Bilbo could feel the other man’s eyelashes flutter against his cheekbone. He leaned forward to capture Thorin’s lips again.

Their hands grasped at each other, fingers gripping thighs, palms trailing up chests, thumbs stroking sensitive skin. Thorin broke away to kiss a meandering path down Bilbo’s neck as his hands slid under the smaller man’s shirt.

“Babe,” Thorin panted.

They both froze — ever so slightly, just a tightening of the muscles. Bilbo’s fingers dug into Thorin’s hair. 

“Yes,” he sighed, tightening his legs around Thorin. 

The mouth on his throat resumed its ministrations, Thorin’s hips rocking against his. Thorin tugged Bilbo’s shirt off, then his own. The whisper and clink of leather and metal punctured the still air and Thorin’s belt slithered to the floor. Thorin lowered Bilbo onto his back and kept his hand cupped around the back of his neck, angling Bilbo’s mouth to deepen their kiss. 

“I used to wonder what it must have been like, growing up this beautiful.” Bilbo slid his palm up Thorin’s jaw and the other man leaned into the touch, rumbling in his chest. He arched up as Thorin reached a hand under his waistband, moaning into his mouth.

“You’re beautiful.” Thorin kissed his way down Bilbo’s bare chest, feeling the pulse at his sternum, breath blowing over his stomach. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Bilbo blinked, warmth blooming behind his eyes when he realized that he believed Thorin, down to his bones and sinew.

Thorin eased Bilbo’s pants down his hips and slid them off his legs. A thick thigh slid between Bilbo’s and ground up against his boxer briefs. Bilbo moaned, dimly aware that he might later be embarrassed at how needy he sounded, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Thorin’s hand worked Bilbo inside his briefs until his toes curled and he pushed at Thorin’s shoulders.

“Stop! I’m gonna—”

Thorin pulled back with a devilish grin. A growl coiled low in his throat as he nosed behind Bilbo’s ear and his lips nipped at earlobe and jaw. Slowly, he tugged Bilbo’s boxer briefs off and dropped them over the edge of the bed. 

The sound of a drawer sliding open and then the pop of a bottle cap had Bilbo biting his lip. Thorin kneeled between Bilbo’s legs and lifted his thighs to his shoulders. Two slicked fingers stroked between his cheeks. Bilbo shivered. Thorin’s blazing blue eyes swept over the sight before him, hungry, taking in flushed skin and spread legs and the arousal straining against his belly.

“Careful,” Bilbo said, “it’s been a while.”

“Mmm,” Thorin grunted. 

The thick finger probing at Bilbo’s entrance sank in and he gasped. Before long, Thorin added another finger, watching in lazy pleasure as Bilbo scrabbled at the sheets. The fingers hooked inside Bilbo, sending waves of pleasure rocking through him. As he arched, Thorin’s mouth latched onto his collarbone.

After another minute of taking Bilbo apart with his fingers, Thorin drew away with a groan. He lowered himself over Bilbo. 

“Are you ready?” he breathed, voice like the rumble of an earthquake.

Bilbo looped his arms around Thorin’s neck. “I want you inside me.  _ Please _ .”

Bilbo whimpered at every inch of Thorin’s cock as it sank inside him, slowly, achingly, until he was buried to the hilt. He trembled underneath Thorin, cradled in the curtain of his dark hair, until Thorin started moving again. 

Thorin drew out almost all the way before he snapped his hips forward, driving his length back into Bilbo as he sobbed, his legs in the air and his arms hanging on for dear life, completely at the mercy of Thorin’s thrusts, which grew less and less controlled, muscles bunching under a sheen of sweat.

“Thorin,” Bilbo gasped. “Thorin, Thorin, Thorin.”

He canted his hips upward to meet Thorin’s, their bodies connecting with obscene slaps, the smell of sweat warming the air. Bilbo’s eyelids slid shut, unable to process anything beyond the hot pleasure riding through him and pooling low in his abdomen. 

On a particularly deep thrust, Bilbo’s eyes flew open, his mouth rounded in an  _ Oh _ , his body bowed in ecstasy. Thorin’s fiery gaze pierced Bilbo as the smaller man keened and emptied himself over his own stomach. Thorin followed soon after, plunging deep into Bilbo and spending himself inside.

~

Bilbo pushed the damp hair off his forehead and melted against Thorin’s chest. Snowflakes had begun to drift outside the window, a haze of white that cocooned them inside the house.

“Keep me warm.” Bilbo wriggled his toes between Thorin’s calves.

Thorin’s rough palm sighed up and down Bilbo’s arm. “Always.”

“I meant to ask you,” said Bilbo, shifting, “but I keep feeling silly about it.”

“Out with it, then.”

“Safeway, in Rivendell. You had a bottle of wine and you were buying chocolates. I wondered…”

“Wondered?” Thorin frowned.

Bilbo blushed. “Well, who were they for?”

“Oh.” Thorin’s expression cleared. He smiled. “For me, of course.”

“Really?”

Thorin’s thumb and forefinger pinched Bilbo’s chin. “What, did you think I had a hot date?” He chuckled. “No, the vending machine at the hotel was broken and I was craving sweets. The wine was just an extra treat.”

Bilbo was embarrassed at the relief that coursed through him. “Oh. Well, that’s alright, then.”

“Why, did you get jealous?” Thorin smirked.

Bilbo slumped against Thorin. 

“Bilbo?”

“We’ve been broken up for ten years. You’d think I’d have stopped going down that rabbithole.”

Thorin tilted Bilbo’s face up to meet his eye. “You know you never have to worry about that, right? You know I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you? That there has never been anyone else but you?”

Bilbo clutched at Thorin’s wrist.

“I should have fallen from your pedestal long before we broke up,” Thorin murmured. “I was less than a good partner to you. I was too focused on my own cause to see what I had — what I lost.” He ducked his head. “You were the only one who ever thought to call me out on my idiocy.”

“I don’t want to keep score anymore,” said Bilbo. “I don’t want it.”

“What do you want?”

Bilbo licked his lips and slid his hand up from Thorin’s wrist to tangle their fingers together. 

“Do you know,” Bilbo started, “I anticipate staying at my job in Rivendell for the next ten years?”

“Oh?”

“I started looking up cat shelters a couple months ago. I thought, I finally have a place that’s pet-friendly. I’m financially stable. I’m going to be here a long time.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“I want you to wreck my plans.” Bilbo’s mouth felt dry.

Thorin’s eyes darted between Bilbo’s. “What?”

“I could sit here and think of all the costs, and everything I could lose.” Bilbo exhaled. “But here’s what I know, Thorin — I would follow you into a war. I would follow you into a raging sea without knowing how to swim. I could have done so years and years ago, but I missed my chance, and now I see it once again, and I can’t risk not taking it. You’re the only one for me, too.” Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand. “So...wreck my plans. Please.”

Thorin’s breath caught. “You mean it?” he said hoarsely.

“More than I’ve meant anything in my life.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s voice cracked. “I—”

“Shh,” Bilbo whispered. “I know. I know. Me too.” 

Thorin drew Bilbo tight into his arms. 

As they buried themselves in each other’s heartbeats, the snow gathered in fluffy banks on the windowsill, the wind whistled over the rooftops of their coastal town, and the sun bowed between the scraggly trees in the midst of the wild winter, scraped across the barren earth, and finally dipped under the tossing waves in a rush of gold.

**Author's Note:**

> "a feast of starlight" is the title of a musical piece from desolation of smaug.
> 
> yeah it started snowing after the sex scene because it was snowing here when i wrote that part and what about it?  
> thank you so much for reading and entertaining my self-indulgent brainrot baby. i truly appreciate you.
> 
> find me on tumblr @[sleepy-santiago](sleepy-santiago.tumblr.com) :)


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